by Carrie Elks
“You shocked me.” Hanna’s eyes glistened as she placed a hand on her chest, as if to calm her racing heart.
“I didn’t mean to.” His voice was lower than he’d expected, and he cleared his throat again. “I can come back later—”
“Goodness, no.” She walked around her desk and over to him, stopping when she was a few feet away. “It’s lovely to see you.”
“You, too.” He marveled at the way she still looked the same, her soft creamy skin highlighted by her flushed cheekbones, her dark brown eyes looking so alive. She was the girl he had first met all those years ago. He tore his eyes away from her face and tried to remind himself he was angry with her. It was difficult when she was looking so damned enchanted to see him.
“So what brings you here? Did Claire tell you I was in New York?”
“No, you happen to be renting office space owned by Maxwell Enterprises. I decided to come and check you out.” He suppressed a grin at the meaning of his words. “You, as in Buzz Media, not you as in Hanna Vincent.”
Hanna laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear, and sat down on the front corner of her desk. “Are we going to pass muster?”
“I don’t know yet. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” His tone was nonchalant, but he was beyond interested to hear more. He pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning forward, keen to hear her response.
“I was conned,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “My boss cajoled me until I agreed to come out and set up the New York office. Nobody else was available, they’re all having babies or completely loved up, and I was the only one with dual nationality. Before I’d even had time to think, I was walking through the baggage reclaim area, wondering how the hell I got here.”
Richard smothered a grin at the thought of Hanna standing in the middle of JFK, realizing somehow she had moved to New York despite her best efforts to never do so. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
“Where are you living?”
Hanna started to swing her leg, drawing his eyes to her short skirt, leading to the long, smooth skin of her thighs. “I’m squatting at Steven and Claire’s apartment. I think I might be bringing down the tone of the neighborhood.”
“Too many drugs and parties?” Richard joked, trying to look anywhere but her legs.
“Not enough manicures and haircuts.” They both glanced at Hanna’s torn nails before she moved her hands behind her, trying to hide them from his scrutiny. “And apparently sneakers aren’t the appropriate footwear for a lady over the age of twenty.”
“Have you been talking to Olivia?” he asked, remembering the way Hanna’s stepmother used to criticize everything about her. She shook her head with a grin.
“Oh, how rude of me, I forgot to ask after Meredith. How is she?”
“She’s good, going crazy planning the wedding. I’m hoping she won’t turn into a bridezilla.” He looked closely at her face to gauge her reaction, but she remained placid and open, her lips curled as she returned his gaze.
“It’s the moment every girl dreams about, I’m sure she’s allowed to be a primadonna about it.” Hanna’s voice was quieter now, and he began to wonder if she was putting on a façade. Or was he kidding himself?
“Do you dream about it?” As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He watched Hanna’s face fall and her brows dip.
“I don’t allow myself to dream, Richard. I’m trying to stay in the here and now.”
The urge to gather her in his arms and pull her against him was gut-wrenchingly strong. She was such a mix of the girl he knew before, and the one he glimpsed after her mother’s death. Her sudden vulnerability made him feel almost angry, and like a caveman, he wanted to drag her away and hide her from the world.
“How long are you planning to stay?” He tried to keep his voice light.
“At least five more months. There’s so much to set up, and I still haven’t recruited the right person to run the place yet.”
“Give my head of HR a call. She might be able to talk you through some strategies.” Richard pulled his cell from his pocket and scribbled down a number on a piece of paper, holding it out for Hanna to take. She smiled at him before hesitantly reaching her hand out and placing her fingers on his.
The instant their skin touched, she pulled back as if she was burned, leaving a corner of torn paper in his outstretched fingers.
“I’m sorry.” She looked down at the ground. “I’m a little jittery.”
“It’s okay. I guess I’d better go anyway. It was great to see you again.”
“You, too. Thanks for dropping by.”
“Would you like to join me for dinner next week?” It was like the words came from nowhere, but he couldn’t regret saying them; his whole body tingled at the thought of seeing her again. “It would be great to catch up.”
“That sounds nice.”
“I’ll let you choose the restaurant.” He needed to get out of there now, before he did something he was going to regret. He scribbled his cell number on another piece of paper, wondering if she still remembered it, as he’d kept the same one all these years. Passing it to her, he kept his fingers well away from hers, knowing neither of them could take the shock of contact again.
Leaving her with a goodbye, he strode back through the corridor, feeling grateful the elevator took only a few moments to arrive. As he walked inside, he leaned his fevered head against the cool mirror, trying not to look himself in the eye as he wondered exactly what the hell he was doing.
Because to all intents and purposes, it felt like he was about to fuck up his life.
Again.
THE CHERRY BLOSSOM Café was only a few blocks from her apartment. Hanna had chosen it because she knew the owners, and loved the laid back atmosphere they created in the evening. In the basement they held performances each night. Sometimes, a band would play. Other nights there would be poetry recitals, or even small one-off plays. You never knew what you were going to get, you just turned up, ordered your food, and hoped for the best.
The fact they would have something to distract them from the need to make small talk played a big part in her choice. She was afraid of the intimacy of a sophisticated dinner-for-two, but was equally wary about the heated adrenaline of a gig. The café was the best of both worlds, there would be a table between them, but they wouldn’t feel alone.
Hanna had loved this place since the first time she’d stepped inside a few months before. Alone, and slightly nervous, she’d aimlessly wandered the streets near her apartment, and as soon as she pushed the door open, it had felt like home. The dark-blue matte-painted walls, and the battered wooden floor, offered a level of unpretentiousness she’d valued, and the warm welcome of Alonso and his wife, Elaine, had only added to her comfort.
Walking in, she waved at Elaine who was taking orders from a large group in the corner, her black hair piled high on her head, and her sixties-style geometric print dress complementing her curvy figure. Elaine pointed over at a table at the back, a few feet away from the performance stage, and Hanna tried not to laugh when she realized they’d have the prime position for watching poetry. She hoped Richard was ready for it.
The table was empty, and the thought she’d arrived before him buoyed her up, so she wasn’t feeling nervous anymore. They were two old friends, meeting for dinner and a chat, and she was totally up for that.
And then she saw him.
Blood like acid shot through her veins, her heart hammering against the cage of her chest, making want and need pierce her body like sharp icicles. She stared in appreciation as he leaned on the bar, his face in profile to her. Her eyes traced his jawline from his ear to chin, appreciating the sharpness of his bone structure, and the way his dark stubble defined it. He was leaning in, talking to Alonso, who was handing him a bottle of beer. Even from this distance she could see he was smiling, the pull of the skin surrounding his eyes telling her it was genuine.
As he picked his beer up, Richard
turned toward her, wearing dark trousers, with a white shirt tucked in. She thought maybe he had come straight from the office, deciding to remove his tie and roll up his sleeves as a concession to the casualness of the evening. He’d undone two or three buttons on his shirt, exposing a few inches of chest, and she saw a fine dusting of hair curling against his skin.
“Are you ready to be seated, Hanna?” Elaine’s voice shocked her back to the present.
She swallowed down the memories and turned with a smile. “Yeah, looks like my guest has arrived.” She motioned in the direction of the bar. “I’d better go say ‘hi.’”
“Go get seated and I’ll bring you a drink. Sancerre?”
“Sounds great.”
As she approached the bar, Richard noticed her, pushing himself up from the stool to stand. The sleeves of his shirt were slightly crumpled, and she couldn’t help but look at the way his forearms emerged from the rolled up cuffs, all warm skin and golden hair, the lines of his tendons firm and clear.
Memories of rough hands and soft lips assaulted her mind as she inhaled deeply. Just one step further and her face would be against his chest. She had to scrape her scant nails against her palms to stop herself from doing it.
“Can I get you a drink?” Richard asked, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. It was barely a second of contact, but it was enough to make her feel like she was on fire.
This was such a bad idea.
Why had she ever thought she could handle this? Hanna had seen this as a chance to redeem herself, a way to apologize to him for her disappearing act. She wanted to wish him well for his future with Meredith, but instead she was transported back in time, to those golden months when their lust had exploded, before her mother’s illness had ripped her heart in two.
“Elaine’s bringing me one over. Shall we sit down?” She managed to keep her voice nice and even. Perhaps if she played the part of a friend, her mind would eventually catch up.
They walked to the table, Hanna leading the way, and without him in her eye line she managed to regain a little equilibrium. It lasted for all of two seconds, until they were seated at the small bistro table, the warm glow of the candle reflecting off their faces.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been here before,” Richard said, lifting the paper menu from the table and glancing at it. “It seems a nice place, though.”
“I thought you must know it, since it’s only a few blocks from your dad’s apartment.”
He shrugged, taking a sip of his beer before glancing up from the menu. “I guess we must have missed this one. Do they do breakfast?”
“I think so. I don’t really eat before lunch, so I’ve never asked.”
“I remember.” He grinned wryly, and she thought her heart was going to stop.
“I never really got to apologize to you,” she babbled, trying to find a way to fill their empty conversation. “About the letter. And me leaving.”
His smile dropped. He placed the menu carefully back down on the table, smoothing the wrinkles with his palm. Looking back up at her, his face was a picture of calm. “You want to talk about that?”
She nodded. Even if they never saw each other again—and with her stupidity and faux pas it was a distinct possibility—she wanted to offer him the one thing she had left. Her regret.
“I want you to know I appreciate everything you did for me. When mum was so ill, you were the only one who kept me going. I know they say you hurt the ones who love you most, but it’s no excuse for me upping and leaving.” She ran her fingers nervously around her wine glass, smoothing out the beads of condensation. “If it’s any consolation, and I’m sure it isn’t, I pretty much want to kick my own ass for what I did.”
His responding laugh was light. “I’m not sure I come out of this with a gold medal. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the way I treated you at Nathan’s wedding. I don’t usually get violent in bathrooms.”
A brief vision of a tiled floor covered with glass. “I pretty much deserved that, too.”
“You’re being hard on yourself; I’ve come to terms with it all. What’s done is done, and hopefully we’ve both come out of it a little wiser.”
His magnanimity cut her to the quick. Either he was truly over it, in which case she should be happy he’d moved on, or he was a damn fine actor.
“Tell me about Australia.”
She smiled at his attempt to change the subject, deciding to take the proffered olive branch. “It seems such a strange time, like remembering a Christmas when you were a small child. When I look back, it’s like I’m seeing someone else, a different me, who took over my life for a while.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe I have multiple personality disorder or something.”
“Did you keep in touch with anybody?” His words were light, but she glanced up to see if his eyes were giving anything away. They weren’t.
“Ruby, of course, and I had to keep in contact with Jamie and Natalie for work reasons. I met up with Tom and the band once, when they played in Sydney, but that was a clusterfuck. I ended up getting drunk and crying all night, and they were too scared to let me go home. They thought I might do something stupid.”
Something flashed in Richard’s eyes, and she tried to define it, wondering if it was a trick of the candlelight. Taking a sip of the wine Elaine had given her, she continued. “It took me a while to realize you can’t outrun depression, and eventually I knew I needed to go home. I was putting off the inevitable. There’s a certain comfort in being with the ones you love.”
She glanced at him nervously, embarrassed at her own words. He must have been thinking them through as much as she was. He held her stare for a moment too long.
Sensing his discomfort, she changed the subject. “So, tell me about Meredith, she seems like a lovely girl.”
“She is.” He agreed, the tenseness of his facial muscles belying his unease. “We met at an art exhibition.”
“I bet Caroline loves her,” Hanna drawled, trying to coax a smile from him.
He nodded amiably. “They appear to share the same taste in wedding venues at least.”
“Have you set a date?”
He shrugged, his face turning serious again. She wondered why the smile had disappeared. “We’re looking at 2011, just need to firm up the plans.”
As Elaine brought over their main courses, he changed the subject again, explaining how the recent economic downturn had impacted Maxwell Enterprises, and their attempts to shore up their income stream. She asked him about Daniel, and tried not to let him see the tears forming in her eyes when he explained about the buy-out, and Daniel’s recent difficulties.
Whether it was the impact of the alcohol, or the relief of unburdening their regrets, the atmosphere between them had loosened by the time the poetry performance started. Elaine had cleared the table, leaving their drinks, and Richard moved his chair around to sit beside Hanna, so he could get a better view of the stage. The fabric of his shirt brushed her bare arm, and she didn’t know whether to stay put, or pull away.
His closeness unnerved her.
“If they try to pull me up and recite poetry, I expect you to save me, okay?” he whispered in her ear, making her lips pull up in amusement.
“I’m so going to volunteer you.” She grinned at him wickedly. “I can’t wait to hear your poem about the economic downturn.”
“I imagine it would be something like… oh hedge fund of mine, you led to the subprime, we thought derivatives were it, but landed us in the…”
“Hush.” She hit him lightly on the arm, pulling her hand back in embarrassment. “I swear I’m going to bring you to open mike night if you don’t behave.”
“You started it.” His voice turned to a whisper as a woman swept up onto the stage, her dark flowing skirt creating a dramatic entrance as it flared out behind her.
They were silent as she began her recitation; her dramatic words accompanied by an over-enthusiastic steel drummer. She showed no stage fright or disco
mfiture at all, and though Hanna had little interest in poetry—despite having a degree in literature—she couldn’t help but be impressed by the way the poet threw herself into it. Even Richard managed to keep fairly still, only having to hide his amusement with a cough a couple of times. Hanna swallowed the impulse to poke him in the ribs.
He was sitting so close to her; it felt unnatural to hold herself so stiffly. As if they were still together, her body wanted to lean to the right, put her head on his shoulder and her palm in his. His thigh was barely an inch away from her own, and she kept glancing at the hand he had resting lightly against it, willing it to move until he was touching her skin.
Was he feeling the pull as strongly as she was?
Hanna wanted to slap herself for even thinking it. He was engaged to somebody else, and he wasn’t hers to lean against.
It didn’t stop her body from wanting, though. Her back started to ache with the effort it took to maintain her rigid pose. In her mind she could picture exactly how her cheek would feel, leaning against his chest, soaking up the warmth of his body through his shirt. She burned to feel the rhythmic movement of his ribcage as he exhaled, the reassuring sound of his heart beating against her ear. She was thankful when the performance was over.
Eighteen
August 28th 2009
It was nearly evening by the time he pulled into the graveled parking lot. Richard found he had to pause a moment to rearrange his features, reminding himself that it was all going smoothly.
Out of all the charitable efforts the Maxwell Memorial Foundation supported, Camp Leon was the one that touched Richard’s heart. It wasn’t about glitzy clothes, or seeing and being seen. It was about the children, the offspring of those who had died, and those who had barely survived. For six years, he’d watched them grow, some of them turning from young children into angry teenagers who couldn’t understand their place in the world. Others were maturing into amazing men and women who returned as counselors. They all had a special place in his heart.
